


The Ties That Bind

by laveIIans



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, Bad Decisions, Dubious Consent, Eventual Sex, Everything That Can Go Wrong Goes Wrong, F/M, Fade Demons, Fade Spirits, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, In the Fade, It Gets Worse, Mages and Templars, Nobody Talks About Their Feelings, Possession, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Fade, Tragic Romance, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, before the conclave, dubcon, healthy and honest discussions are for wimps, right before everything goes to pieces, set somewhere between the end of da2 and the beginning of inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laveIIans/pseuds/laveIIans
Summary: The year is 9:39 Dragon; the setting, a simple Circle tower in Ferelden like any other. Our heroes are ones whose names would be easily forgotten, their deeds lost to time. Mages are pitted against templars, but the deadliest enemy was perhaps the one inside all along. From the outside looking in, the creatures of the Fade rear their heads and watch, laughing at what fools these mortals are...Galyon Aren had always been the clever sort who knew his place, never towing a foot out of line in the Circle and rising to the ranks of Enchanter with impressive speed. Knowing the risks on both sides of the Veil, he took a gamble on what would be the most dangerous action of his whole life: daring to fall in love with a spirit. The consequences of his folly would be far-reaching and devastating for all involved, and none would escape unscathed....





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief depiction of sexual assault.

Galyon sighed. “You’re not putting all your focus into the barrier,” he reminded his apprentice for the fourth time. “Watch what I do and try to imitate it.”

He closed his eyes, sensing the magical energy around him. Naturally, it was heightened within the tower, and if he concentrated hard enough he could almost visualise it. It felt like… something _twinkling_. Hard to properly describe, but easy to notice even if you weren’t especially paying attention.

Grasping his staff, he reached out and summoned some of it, drawing it around his body like a loose cloak, letting it settle for a moment before gesturing to the boy. “Now you try.”

The boy hesitated. Galyon nodded, trying to seem encouraging, although he couldn’t deny the growing sense of frustration that he was trying to suppress. The boy had talent, that was clear enough, and in another year or two Galyon estimated he’d be ready to start training for his Harrowing. Still, talent or no talent, this was a _simple_ spell, the likes of which Galyon had mastered much earlier than his apprentice. What was the struggle, then?

He assumed he’d explained it clearly enough, because the boy understood enough to at least _attempt_ it. He could sense the fact he was genuinely trying at least, which was better than some of the older ones who thought they’d seen it all and liked to get snarky. Galyon hated them and the carefree attitude they clung to, mocking everything and everyone in the full arrogance of their youth and taking very little seriously, and there had been many a time he had firmly tried to put them in their place, only for them to laugh and shrug it off. Being confined to the apprentice quarters lost a bit of its sting after you realised quickly enough you’d never be allowed to leave the tower for the rest of your life anyway, and he struggled to find a suitable punishment that didn’t involve invoking the templars like resident bogeymen.

The boy managed to summon a barrier for a few seconds, one that was much stronger than his previous effort. It disappeared quickly, but the aim of the exercise wasn’t so much sustaining it as actually _creating_ one. The more complicated aspects could wait until he’d mastered the basics, and each moment of progress brought him a halting step closer.

“Well done.” Galyon smiled a genuine smile, proud that his instructing efforts seemed to have got through at last. “You’ve made good progress. I think you can have a little break now – go and read in the library, talk with your friends, anything you feel like. We’ll resume in an hour.”

“Thank you, sir! I promise I won’t disappoint you!” The boy scampered off, an eager grin plastered to his face, and Galyon tried not to look too amused.

It didn’t work.

“I hope you’re not being too hard on the poor lad,” Yveline said teasingly as she wandered over. She had cat-like green eyes and a crop of bushy red hair that tumbled down to her waist. She usually let it flow freely if she wasn’t having to wear her helmet, saying it was such a hassle to try and plait it otherwise, but she did at least try to pin it out of her face with little clips, usually with some kind of flower on them. Today, it was daffodils.

“Well, he _should_ have been able to master the spell a lot earlier.” Galyon rested his hands on his hips and shook his head as Yveline laughed at him.

“So just because _you_ mastered it at – what, ten? Don’t remind me, I don’t want to stoke your ego – you think the poor boy has to suffer because he’s not some kind of mage prodigy?”

“You think I’m a mage prodigy?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No. I think you’re an insufferable know-it-all who can’t admit to himself he doesn’t know everything about everything.”

Galyon shook with repressed laughter. “You know, Yveline, sometimes I can’t tell if you’re genuinely trying to wound me, or just teasing me as a friend.”

“So we’re _friends_ now, hmm? And here I thought I was the scary templar monster hiding in the shadows to frighten the little mage babies with my sharp claws.” She gestured to her sword proudly, swaying to show him the way it shone under the light. She polished it every morning after waking and every evening before she slept, putting a similar amount of care towards it the way one might for a child. He wondered if she sang it lullabies, too.

“You know I’ll be thirty-eight in a month.”

“And I’ll be twenty-four. I think I might be losing my youthful pallor soon. I’ll get all wrinkly and grey like you and then no man will want to look at me.”

“Hey! They said it was _very unusual_ that I went fully grey at thirty. It was very sudden, and _unexpected_.” Galyon bristled, emphasising the words just to make it crystal clear. “And I’m not _that_ wrinkled… am I?” He checked his reflection in Yveline’s sword. “Besides, I thought some women liked that kind of thing. Age brings experience, or so they say.”

Yveline reddened. “Well, they might,” she admitted slowly. “Some women might also wonder why your hair’s even longer than mine.” When loosened, Galyon’s hair reached down to his thighs. He plaited it at the temples to join into a long, corded braid that gently swayed from side to side at every step. The movement became noticeable the more agitated he was, pacing up and down until it looked like the needle of a pendulum.

“Long hair is very good at emphasising a willowy figure, and the grey brings out my eyes. Which are also grey. It gives off a very ethereal look. Dare I say… _elfin_.” He pointed to his ears, as if it was impossible to register how thin and pointy they were. “I think it makes me look very dashing, don’t you?”

 _Perhaps_. “You absolute swine,” she hissed at him as he laughed. “I think it’s because you’re just too lazy to cut it often.”

He shrugged. “I am helpless in the face of your anger. My mother taught me it is an ill thing to argue with a woman.”

“You stop that.”

“A woman with fiery hair to match her temper, whose green eyes flicker with jealous – ”

She made to jokingly punch him, but he gracefully side-stepped out of her way and shot her a mocking glance. “You are _insufferable_ , Galyon Aren.”

“And _you_ are hot-headed, Yveline Durand.”

“I really hate when you say my surname.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You’d be surprised how many Fereldans struggle to pronounce it properly. They labour on an accent so thick that it just…” She wrung her hands at him in frustration.

“Perhaps because it’s Orlesian, not Fereldan?” He suggested helpfully.

“Thanks, Galyon.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How nice of you to remind me, once again, how little I really belong here in this country and how I should just go to the White Spire instead like my family wanted in the first place.”

 Galyon lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I know it can be a… difficult topic sometimes.”

Yveline groaned. “No, no, you did nothing wrong. It was just… I’m really stressed right now.” She looked around quickly, making sure there was nobody close by to overhear, and gestured to him that they should move further along. “They’re working me to the bone,” she whispered. “It’s either practice drills with the others, walking around the tower on a shift, cleaning out the prison cells –” she wrinkled her nose in distaste “– or I have to hang around and look threatening. ‘Guard duty,’ they call it. Tell me, who needs to be guarded outside their own _chambers_?” She shivered.  

“Mages, apparently. You’re telling me you _wouldn’t_ be scared of someone who can shoot fire balls out of their own fists?”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought mages were meant to, you know, _defend_ mages. Like Anders, or… or Fiona.”

He narrowed his eyes and winced. “Firstly, just trying to see things from a different point of view. And yes, I certainly would defend my own kind, but I wouldn’t try to blow up a Chantry filled with innocent people in there.”

 “I’m sorry, Galyon. That wasn’t a good example.” Yveline looked away. “I just… I _can’t_ –”

He patted her arm awkwardly. “Hey, hey, listen for a second. Okay?” She met his gaze. “You’re doing a good job. You’re working hard, above and beyond what your job actually requires you to do, because you _care_. And Maker knows we need more templars on our side right now.” Galyon smiled. “Besides, you’re probably one of few templars who could say they have a mage as a best friend.”

“A best friend? Not a prisoner waiting to happen?” They both laughed.

“I’d best get back to patrolling.” Yveline shuffled her feet and gave him an apologetic look. “If I stick around too long in one place they get all antsy. They think I’m a soft touch as it is. It would be so easy for one of the higher-ups to just accuse me of fraternisation and then… boom.” She shuddered.

“You mean you’re _not_ tempted?” Galyon flicked his braid over his shoulder and attempted to strike a sultry pose as she giggled, turning away to hide her growing blush.

“Look, I’ve got to go,” she murmured as she began walking away in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you around, Galyon. Don’t be too harsh on the poor lad, remember.”

“I’ll try to not zap him into a frog this time,” he replied, smirking as she groaned and shook her head. Then he walked back to the practice rooms, scratching the back of his neck as he waited for his budding apprentice to show up, wondering if he’d be punctual this time.

 _Why can’t I remember his damned name? Am I getting too old for this?_  

Galyon sighed. He could have easily risen to Senior Enchanter years ago, and he’d been told in confidence that he was a year away from it at most, but instead he’d chosen to _still_ keep on four apprentices alongside his research into spirit magic and the Fade. Much was written warning against maleficarum, and even the most hardened templar could grudgingly respect the existence of spirit healers, yet not much else was known about the potential benevolent uses for spirits in the waking world in conjunction with mages.

Even after all the centuries his fellow scholars had spent trailing through the Fade, mage and mundane both, nobody managed to have a concrete answer as to its purpose, or how it existed in the first place, or even why certain people were unable to access it. There were thousands of questions whose answers merely raised more questions, or who did not have any answer he could find. There were also theories he could merely speculate on, not being able to ascertain anything with any degree of certainty. Certainty went straight out the window when dealing with spirits; in the realm of dreams and imagination, there were no rules, and there were no safe bets.

He wondered if he was wasting his time trying to train anybody and whether he should just ask to dedicate himself wholly to his research when the boy showed up, grinning.

“I was practicing earlier with a friend of mine,” he blurted out, “when I managed to actually produce a barrier this time. A real one. It lasted nearly two minutes before I got tired.” With an eager glint to his eye, he demonstrated a solid barrier before Galyon. Inspecting it, he could see the light slightly bounce off it as it stood shimmering in front of him, almost transparent but not quite.

He cast a blizzard over the boy and saw it never hit the ground. Fire balls and lightning simply bounced off it, disappearing in the air as he ceased casting. The boy had clearly put a lot of effort in… so he _had_ been listening, after all.

Galyon found himself proud of his pupil. “Very good,” he smiled. “I think you’ve made a great amount of progress in such short time. Maybe this friend of yours is a better teacher than I am,” he added teasingly.

The boy fervently shook his head. “No, Enchanter, he’s not. He’s still an apprentice, just like me. We both still have a lot to learn.” He grinned again, a winsome smile that was nearly infectious. “Besides, I only improved because I followed what you told me. He only helped me focus and get better.” He shrugged. “I think I still have a few spells left to master before my Harrowing though, so I’ll still need a teacher. For a few more years, anyway.”

Galyon was oddly touched but did his best to conceal it behind an opaque smile. “Of course. Mages do not master their gifts in a day.” He patted the boy on the shoulder, gesturing for him to come into the practice room again. “A week at least, perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lying in bed later that day, Galyon thought over everything that had happened. He had found a fascinating tome in the library after he had finished teaching his apprentices, one of whom would take her Harrowing a week from now. The author had signed their name only as ‘Calista,’ which was almost certainly a pseudonym, and from their writing style and familiarity with certain blood-based branches of spirit magic, he figured they were likely a Tevinter. He assumed from the feminine-sounding name that they were probably female, too. Still, he could not judge the author too harshly: they were certainly very experienced, both assured in what they described and how they wrote it down. They used surprisingly clear prose, unadorned with the more flowery additions that the more aspiring academics sometimes drenched their texts with, and it was a welcome relief.

Galyon had been inspired enough to seek answers in the Fade later but found himself simply too tired by the time he was free. All he could think of was the warm comforts of his bed after quickly washing and offering a quick prayer to the Maker to offer His protection as he slept. The lyrium ritual would have to wait until tomorrow.

Yawning, he fell asleep easily and found himself in the Fade not long afterwards. Yveline was swaying towards him in a drunken lurch, murmuring Orlesian curses as she nearly tripped over her own feet, and it was an amusing enough dream while it lasted. If he remembered it on waking, he’d make sure to point out to her just how many times she’d hissed ‘ _Putain de merde_ ’ at her own toes.

He had largely forgettable dreams afterwards, things of little consequence. Wandering around the tower. Reading in the library. The feeling of pride as his apprentices passed their Harrowing.

 He found himself thinking of his youth for the first time in a long time as memories of life in the Highever alienage resurfaced. The flimsy wooden buildings of his childhood were largely fading or gone, scarcely remembered after thirty years away, but he remembered the kindness and wisdom of the _hahren_ ’s face, who had always cuddled him and offered him a green apple each week. His _hahren_ had had scarcely enough food to feed his own family, yet the old man had been generous enough to give all that he could afford to help any in need. The alienage may have struggled desperately to survive, but they survived together in a tight-knit community stronger than even the bonds of blood.

He remembered the awe in his friends as he made a fallen branch levitate without meaning to for the first time. He had told his parents excitedly, thinking he could use his gifts to protect the weaker members of the alienage when they went into the outside world to buy and trade goods.

Then he saw the fear and sheer panic on their faces, saw how he had fallen to the floor in despair as he begged them to let him help in any way he could as they whispered between themselves about how best to shelter him from the templars. He saw again the way they had made hasty plans to leave the alienage within a week, selling off as much as they could afford as they struggled to buy supplies with their meagre coin, and the entire alienage came to offer their goodbyes. The pain in his community was almost tangible, written into every expression and lingering touch that couldn’t last as long as anyone wanted. Far less than everyone needed.

The templars came in the middle of the night. His mother stood over his cot, pleading with them to go, offering them all the money they had. His father had prevented them getting any closer, trying to seem strong and intimidating but failing from his own malnourishment to look anything other than scrawny and desperate.  He had known the price it would take to stand up to the templars, and shems at that, but he had bravely done his best.

A weakened man could only put up so much of a fight against a sword as they shoved him out of the way, bleeding and bruised, and made for the cot. His mother fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face, offering up the money. When they pushed her hands aside, she screamed, and one of them boxed her across the ear while the other yanked him out of bed and pulled him away, ignoring his wails and scrambling. She begged and pleaded, saying she’d offer them anything if they’d leave her son alone, ignoring his father’s protests as he tried to crawl over, grunting from the pain. Her voice had cracked as one of them pawed at her clumsily, ripping down the front of her shirt as he groped his way around her torso and laughed, ignoring her squeals of protest. She had flinched as the man had pushed down into her trousers, struggling to free herself from his grasp, and eventually the templar had given up. She had fallen into his father’s arms, dissolving into racking sobs as she buried her face into his chest, and did not look up at him again. His father had gone grey with shock, and he gave his son a look of fear and shame as he struggled to comfort his wife. He had reached out to him, pleading with his eyes, but the templars were dragging Galyon away too quickly and the distance was too great for their hands to touch.

As he was dragged away, kicking and screaming, the last thing Galyon had seen was the sadness on the old _hahren_ ’s face. The old man was lost to his despair as he fell shakily to his knees and wept, and it had hurt almost as much as seeing the way his parents had begged for mercy. _We are like dolls for their amusement_ , he had thought bitterly.

The pleasantness of his earlier dreams had vanished and brought with it the old nightmares of his youth. For a moment, he was just seven years old again, frightened and ripped away from the only people he had ever loved. The sense of utter powerlessness was almost terrifying, and he found himself desperately trying to wake up. Even in his dreams, though, he knew the futility: how do you wake up from a nightmare when a demon is intent on keeping you there?

There was a light touch on his shoulder. Galyon turned around, suddenly afraid, and saw himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. _Was she another dreamer?_ She was almost radiant, and her smile was gentle and full of compassion.

“Who are you?” he asked, ashamed of the way his voice trembled. He was still shivering as he tried to recover from what he had just been forced to relive, but she didn’t seem to judge him.

“I am Love,” she told him, and her voice was sweeter than any of the Chantry’s songs. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Her hand was cool and soft as she stroked his forehead, and when she kissed him gently on the bridge of his nose, he thought he might melt. “ _Wake up_.”

Galyon gasped. He was in his own bed again, back in the tower, and covered in sweat. The woman was still on his mind, and he was utterly intrigued by her. She was a tall, pale elf, and she had long red hair. If she was truly a spirit, she was the most fascinating one he had ever personally come across in the Fade, waking or asleep. He was absolutely certain he wouldn’t forget about her.

He groaned. Sleep would not come so easily the second time around, and he might not even find her again. Spirits were like waves; they were never constant, always shifting and changing to match what they saw around them.

 _I need to find her_ , he thought to himself as he desperately willed himself to fall asleep, but his body remained stubbornly awake. After a few more minutes of waiting impatiently, he swore and made his way to the bathroom at the back of his chambers, washing away the sweat until he was clean once more.

 _She’ll be there whenever I return_ , he reassured himself. _Spirits can’t die. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay_. He wondered if she was really a desire demon, to have enthralled him so, but she seemed genuine enough.

Sighing, he rolled onto his side and tried to fall asleep once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Putain de merde_ literally means ‘whore of shit’ (yeah, French – uh, _Orlesian_ – can be interesting sometimes) but in general speech means something more like ‘fucking shit.’ You can’t use this one around your grandmother.]


	2. Chapter 2

Galyon was distracted for most of the following day. No matter how badly he tried to focus on his apprentices or his books and research, his mind always wandered back to the woman from his dreams. He was fully awake, yet he felt like he was sleepwalking as he moped around the tower, longing for the comfort of sleep and dreams to reunite them again.

Still, he had not succumbed _entirely_. He had never met such a spirit before – and he was reasonably certain that she was, in fact, a spirit after all – and it both intrigued and frightened him. If she was so unfamiliar, perhaps something even other mages had never encountered before, she would be utterly invaluable towards his research into the Fade; a walking, talking breakthrough. But if she was dangerous, if she had malicious intent towards him that extended towards captivating and weakening him, she could be deadly. She could destroy his mind. The fact that he was unable to tell whether she was a friend or threat unnerved him more than he could say.

“I need a drink,” he grumbled to himself, wishing he could relax with a bottle or two of fine ale and just forget everything. It was rumoured that one of the privileges the Senior Enchanters could afford was access to all the intoxicating drinks they desired, along with other less savoury articles. Of course, it was more than likely just some fanciful nonsense that an apprentice made up while carried away to comfort themselves; there was little else to aspire to in such an insular world where, once you entered through the tower doors, you would never leave again. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to sweeten the deal.

He had only ever had alcohol once since he had been taken away by the templars, and that had been in celebration of seven Senior Enchanters being appointed by the Divine. As only a mere Enchanter, he had of course been unable to join them in person, but he and the others had been allowed one bottle, and one only, in recognition of their own service. Perhaps it was a sign that his tower was relatively liberal that this was permitted in the first place, or even that the templars had ignored the blatant fact that they had all shared amongst themselves and drunk far more than they had been allotted. He had had a fine time of it, Galyon remembered, with admirers thronging after him longing to touch his long hair in admiration. The braver ones had let their hands wander a little more, so he had done the same, and that had been very enjoyable for everyone involved. He grinned sheepishly to himself. _Oh yes, there was certainly more than one_.

Now the templars swarmed around them like flies, yanking their leashes if they even suspected anything, and the more permissive atmosphere had all but evaporated. As with many things now, you could trace it back to that fateful day in Kirkwall. There were certainly more than a few in the tower who had quietly sympathised with Anders’ goals, but _none_ of them would have stooped so low as to blow up a Chantry building.

He gritted his teeth in irritation. _One bad day, and they blame us all._ There was no hive mind among the mages, no way to communicate other than crystals and messenger birds, but the way the templars prowled around itching for a confrontation, you’d think it not only existed but _thrived_.

He swore, kicking at his desk in frustration. The subsequent pain in his foot only made him swear harder, and the stream of healing magic barely calmed him. Galyon felt like a bundle of nerves, more pent up and frustrated than he’d ever been even as an adolescent. His feelings confused and frightened him, and the uncertainty surrounding this Spirit of Love as she called herself frightened him even more.

After an hour spent unsuccessfully poring over his books, he gave up and headed to the library. There had to be at least _one_ volume that would be of use, he reckoned, trying to ignore the way his hands trembled. His body was shaking worse than a templar in the throes of withdrawal, and there was a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. Anyone who saw him in this state would think he was on the brink of joining the Maker, and Galyon found himself hard pressed to argue. _Have I gone mad?_ The more his thoughts spiralled, the more he wondered if it was a possibility. This obsession went far beyond any normal interest in his studies, or even any romantic angst; this was a distraction, and it was _dangerous_.

Shuddering, he found an old, worn copy of _Esoteric Spirits and Lesser-Known Entities: A Guide for the Perplexed_. ‘Perplexed’ was putting it mildly in his opinion, and the author clearly agreed – they had dedicated what felt like a hundred pages to each _sentence_ , let alone anything else, and the book sprawled on for nearly seven hundred pages.

Still, he eventually worked his way to ‘Love’ and read what the longwinded man had to say about it:

_A rarely encountered spirit even outside of the waking world, much like its gentle sibling Compassion, Love is not frequently drawn to direct interactions with mortals, preferring instead to subtly influence, persuade and act without our knowledge, or perhaps even memory. Ever wary of the confrontational nature of its subjects, Love becomes increasingly fragile when interacting with them, being easily corrupted beyond its original purpose – indeed, like Compassion and those of its shy ilk, Love is perhaps one of the emotions that was most ill-suited for a spirit to ape or imitate, given how easily even mortals can destroy it themselves without its aid and interference._

He wondered if the man had been going through a tough time while writing this passage.

_When dealing with Love, caution is strongly recommended, although not for any danger in the mortal’s case, but rather to preserve the purity of its essence and being. Love can be twisted into Jealousy or Spite, or even perhaps Hate or Pride; because there is relatively little academic material to draw on the subject, and much of our knowledge on the matter comes from folklore (which, I must add, often predates the Chantry and should therefore be disregarded in most cases or treated with suspicion), thus we are sadly lacking in our knowledge of this spirit. The irony cannot be lost on the reader, given how significant Love generally is in the lives of us all, and so its intricacies, wisdom and, yes, even potential dangers, are lost to us, hidden beyond veils both physical and metaphorical and, perhaps, unable to be crossed._

The words filled him with dread. ‘Easily corruptible’ stood out as a particular red flag; his interactions with her would have to be limited for her own safety, because otherwise he would destroy the very thing he was beginning to fall in love with. And yes, the poetic irony of the situation was not lost on him. It was the stuff a bard would die to put into songs, and now he was living it himself.

He groaned. _When did I start thinking of love? And when did ‘it’ become ‘her’?_ A spirit, by its very meaning, existed beyond mortal understanding: as a result, most spirits did not tend to view themselves as male or female, at least in his experience. They might take on the appearance as such for the convenience and comfort of mortal eyes, especially if they wanted them to do their bidding (and he shuddered to think that perhaps this spirit was not Love after all, but already had its talons sank deep in his back regardless), but they generally disregarded such notions unless they possessed somebody and became an abomination. Of course, there were some spirits who became more closely attuned to the mortals they took such interest in and, as a result, sometimes thought of themselves as men and women as well. Perhaps Love had merely been a keen observer who had felt the same way.

 _Love_. Such a complicated, loaded word, both for the spirit and his feelings. He could not deny he was transfixed by her – them? It? He still struggled with how to refer to the spirit now, after trying to think more clinically in the coldness of the waking world – but, as with mortal romances, he hesitated to say he was ‘in love’ with anyone. After all, he had only seen Love once, and in a dream at that; there was no way of saying how long it had lasted, so it might have been anywhere from hours to a matter of minutes.

The thought he might have felt so deeply after such a short amount of time would have made Yveline laugh, had she known. ‘She must have been quite the looker to get our resident researcher to tear his eyes from his books,’ she would have said with a wink, and never let him forget it either.

Galyon shook his head. He didn’t even know what to _call_ her. The spirit had appeared to him in female form, so he automatically thought of her as a woman; but these were spirits after all, ever-changing and forming like countless waves on the shoreline, and perhaps his Love had already changed.

 _‘My’ Love_ , he thought with a dry chuckle. _None can own or chain a spirit, and none can tame them; they are more like wild beasts than we know, and more intelligent than we care to admit. We can only bind them and hope for the best._

Who had said that? Perhaps an old instructor of us. He found it oddly accurate, although now confusing. This spirit was clearly smart, although comparing her to a ‘wild beast’ was a bit of a stretch, Galyon mused.

There was the matter of her being his love. His _lover_ , even, if the more debauched jokes had any basis to them. She was a spirit, after all; his feelings would almost certainly warp her beyond her purpose. And then it was hardly romantic to keep calling her a ‘Spirit of Love’ all the time if things headed that way – his lovers had all had first names, and none of them had been emotions. It was yet another reminder that this woman was not a mortal like he was, and yet his thoughts persisted in shoving him towards her anyway.

He wondered how their relationship would come to pass, if it ever could. There were plenty of manuals for the lovestruck fools of Thedas to confess their feelings, but those manuals generally assumed the object of those emotions belonged on the right side of the Veil. _I love you, Love._ It sounded like the punchline to a bad joke.

Galyon wanted to scream. He felt more helpless and confused than he had in decades, and it was beginning to wear him thin.

Most of all, he just wanted her. He wanted to see her billowing red hair and her green cat-eyes; to feel her cool, smooth skin again and hear her calming voice. She really _was_ unforgettable.

 _I’m all wound up_ , he thought with a bitter laugh. _This is not how I should be. Maker take me, I have a job to do._ He threw his head into his hands and fought back the urge to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

“Done enough feeling sorry for yourself, or are you going for another round of bellyaching?” It was a familiar voice, but Galyon couldn’t place the name. The voice tapped insistently at his shoulder, sounding both amused and frustrated. “Or are you going to burrow into your hands or something? Can mages do that? Well keep it up for a bit longer and we’ll both find out the answer. Which is _no_ , by the way.”

The voice pulled him up by his braid none too gently, and Galyon found himself face to face with her.

“Maker’s breath, you’re a sorry sight, aren’t you? You’d think the world was ending or something.” Yveline sighed at him and raked a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “What happened, hmm? You’re whiter than a sheet. I’d put it down to your old man hair or something normally, but…”

She paused to scrutinise him a little longer. “Wait, you’re shaking. You’re actually _shaking_.” She took a step backwards. “It’s not contagious, is it? Because there is _no way_ that I’m getting sick, not while I’m patrolling. Morris would _skin_ me.” 

“Yveline,” he croaked, feeling like he’d swallowed a desert’s worth of sand. “Why – ” The words didn’t come out, but she tilted her head to the side and continued for him.

“Why am I here with you? Or why are you like this? See, the answer to the first question is, hmm…. Ah right. It’s my _job_ , and I can’t really leave the tower, same as you, so you’re stuck with me. As for the second, I’m trying to find out why Enchanter Galyon is in the middle of a nervous breakdown myself. You’re lucky it was _me_ who found you, anyway.” She groaned. “You realise that technically I should be reporting this to the First Enchanter, right? An Enchanter who can’t fulfil his duties is as great a liability as an untrained apprentice, and an Enchanter whose world is crumbling around him is a lost cause.”

“Yveline – ”

“ _They could make you Tranquil if they suspected anything was wrong with you_ ,” she hissed at him, and he fell into stunned silence. “Do you seriously think I want to see my best friend turn into a mindless vegetable? No, I don’t, and I don’t think you want to become one, either. So _snap out of it_.”

Galyon had never seen her this riled up before. She was certainly angry, yes, but she was deeply concerned about him, too. He wondered how bad he must have looked.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She bit her lip, looking somewhat ashamed. “About the Tranquil, I mean. They’re very useful and deserve just as much respect as… as…. _Gah!_ ”

She stamped her foot in frustration, and Galyon had to bite back a smile. Yveline was just as fiery as her hair, and had a temper as short as it was long. 

“But I am worried about you, Gally.” The nickname brought him back to reality again. She’d insisted on giving him a nickname after they’d got close, saying that that was what friends were for. She rarely got the chance to use it, given that they often met publicly, and any sign of closeness and friendship could be (perhaps deliberately) misconstrued as fraternisation by the wrong eyes; as a result, she only used it on the rare occasions they were alone together, and even then, only in serious times. It was a mark of just how scared she was, he realised, and his stomach dropped. “What’s wrong? Please tell me.” She let her hand linger on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze that lasted longer than he would have expected.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve been acting like such a fool.” He moved his hand away from hers, back down to his side, and pretended not to see the hurt in her expression.

“ _Please_ , Galyon. I know something’s wrong. You’re _never_ like this. So I need to know if you’re ill, so I can get a healer or whatever for you, or if I need to… to…”

The sentence dropped off limply, but they both knew where it had been heading. _Or if I need to get the First Enchanter to evaluate you. Or if you’re a risk. Or if you need to be made Tranquil. Or if you need to be killed._

He knew Yveline would never kill him, if it came to that, and neither would she stand idly by and watch him become a ‘vegetable,’ as she had put it earlier. But he also knew she would never do anything to risk her job; being a relatively new and young templar without any senior ranking yet left her in a precarious position, and her Orlesian nationality only made it more awkward.

“I’m not a risk,” Galyon said quietly, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to make eye contact with her. This whole situation wasn’t Yveline’s fault, and he knew that deep down; still, the urge to take out his frustrations on someone was overwhelming. “You’d know if I was.”

“If _you_ were a risk, I’d feel sorry for the books. You’re one of the library’s most frequent visitors, you know. They might just wither away from loneliness.”

They both laughed, but a part of Galyon wondered for a moment if that was even possible. In a tower basically bleeding with magical energy, you could never really know _anything_ for certain. He shook his head and concentrated.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, trying to sound more serious this time. “I… had a strange dream, that’s all. Spirits. It was weird.”

Instinctively she backed away, tightening her grip on her sword’s hilt. Her eyes widened. “You’re not _possessed_ , are you?”  

He chuckled and immediately felt guilty afterwards when she grew more panicked. Raising his hands slowly, he got to his feet and stood before her, defenceless. “Yveline, I _promise_ I’m not a threat. I’d know. I’m a mage for one thing, and researching spirits for another.”

“But you could… you… that’s _exactly_ the thing a possessed person would say!” She glared at him. “Answer something only the _real_ Galyon Aren would know. And hurry up about it, too. The more I think about it, the more likely it looks like you’ll turn me into a toad or something.”

“Alright.” He paused, trying to think up something. For a moment he was lost, and Yveline’s knuckles grew whiter around the sword as she gazed at him impassively. “When you’re angry, you mutter ‘ _Putain de merde_ ’ to yourself when you think nobody’s listening. Or just ‘ _merde_.’ One time you even said –”

“Alright, alright, you’re not possessed,” she said quickly as he laughed, trying and failing to hide her reddened cheeks. “Do I _really_ say that?” When he nodded, she only grew more embarrassed and shook her head in dismay. “I think my mother would pack me off to the Chantry if she knew.”

“Technically, you _already_ work for the Chantry,” he snorted.

She shook her head teasingly, a hesitant smile forming. “Technically, I do. You’re right. And you sound just as bad as she does.”

“I could imagine you as a nice pious sister, you know. The colours would really bring out your hair, and you’d be kept away from the sins of the world.”

She giggled. “Stop it, you’re _insufferable_! Besides, isn’t there tons of books all about corrupting those sweet, innocent sisters anyway? First taste of trouble and suddenly they’re ale-swigging and cursing like sailors.”

“See, a _really_ innocent sister wouldn’t even know such things existed. They’d blanche if you just say, ‘Maker’s breath’ too loudly.”

“Or ‘Andraste’s knickers,’ perhaps?”

“Oh, you don’t want to even _touch_ Andraste near _those_ sisters.”

Yveline cleared her throat. “I think we’ve lost track of the topic at hand, Gally.”

“I know.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to make everything a little lighter, because…this…” He stopped and shook his head.

“Look, whatever’s bothering you must be _really_ bothering you. You’re never this shaken up. I won’t judge, I promise, but you need to spit it out soon or you’ll blow up.” She smirked. “Trust me, I’m a templar.”

Galyon snorted. “Really? _That_ was the best you could do?”

“Weren’t _you_ the one trying to make everything lighter?” For a moment the two laughed together. Everything was well again.

“You’re right, though.” His gaze was grim. “I think I have something very important to discuss with you.”

Yveline could feel her stomach clenching. She was absolutely terrified of hearing whatever he was about to say. The way he was talking was beginning to alarm her, especially the way he seemed so solemn and afraid of it himself. Whatever it was, it would change things between them, and she didn’t want that at all.

“Say it, then.” She sat down, gesturing for him to do the same. After a moment’s pause, he sat at the seat opposite her. Yveline felt as if she was on trial for something, seeing his stony face looking back at her over the table and his mountain of tomes.

He blinked at her, saying nothing. The silence went on for too long, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable, not like her. He just sat there and watched her like a cat. _He’s putting distance between us_ , she realised. It frightened her.

“This will take some time,” he murmured. “I don’t know how you’re going to react to this.”

“It’s okay,” she pleaded. “Please, _please_ , just tell me what it is. I can help you. We can _all_ help you –”

“I think I’m in love with a spirit,” Galyon said calmly, cool as still water.

_Maker take you. Maker take us all._ Yveline drew her sword and pointed it at his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you mad?” she hissed at him, as loudly as she dared. They were still in the library, and Yveline was uncomfortably aware of the fact they were drawing attention to themselves. “You could be… _you could become one of them._ ”

“An abomination?” The way he said it made her twitch. “Hardly likely. For one thing, if I was an abomination, I’d hardly want to talk about it openly, would I? And with a _templar_ , no less.” He pointed at her sword. “Put that thing away, Yveline. Please. We’re friends.”

“Are we?” Galyon looked as if she’d slapped him, and for a moment she felt guilty. Still, she had her sworn duty. _I have to do my job. If I lose sight, we all fall._ “A friend wouldn’t willingly endanger us all and consort with a _demon_.”

“A _spirit_ ,” he corrected her. She wanted to groan. Galyon could be so infuriating when it came to the language of his studies. “I have been studying in various tomes –” he pointed to the books at the desk “– and I can find no danger in her.”

“Her? She’s a demon, you bloody fool. She’s got you under her spell. She’ll get into your head and then you’ll go on a rampage. You could kill us all.” She paused, her eyes welling up with tears. “You could kill me, and you wouldn’t even know.”

It hurt to hear her say that. It hurt even more to know that, were he an abomination, she’d be absolutely correct. He knew the way demons worked; he’d be little more than a puppet, a house for unspeakable acts and terrible danger. That was the risk when studying the Fade, and any apprentice worth their Harrowing would know that.

But this was _different_. Galyon knew it deep down, but how could you put it into words? How could he describe the emotions that Love had made him feel when he barely understood it himself?

Perhaps Yveline was right. Perhaps he _was_ under a spell, walking towards doom with a goofy grin plastered to his face and his arms open wide.

Seeing his indecision, she put her sword away but glared at him. To see such fear reflected in the eyes of his best friend… fear of _him_ …

“I think you’re still a risk,” she said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper, “but from what I can tell you seem to be in control of yourself. You show no physical signs of possession, and your actions are… as infuriating as ever.” A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips, but it was gone as soon as he blinked.

“I’m worried about you. Whatever is happening to you in the Fade, whatever _this_ is…I don’t like it, Galyon. I don’t like it at all.” She turned away, levelling her gaze at the mages who were trying to surreptitiously catch a glimpse of their whispered argument; they turned away sheepishly, and Yveline gave him a flinty stare. “You need to stop talking to this spirit before it gets out of hand. I’m no expert, not like you, but I’m a templar nonetheless. This isn’t _normal_ , Galyon.” She paused. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on. You know what that means.” Her eyes were so sad, barely holding back her unshed tears. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” she whispered as she turned on her heel and left the room.

Yveline didn’t run. She was too professional for that. Instead she marched, and she marched with such force that everyone she passed was startled. Nobody failed to notice the way she was now gripping her sword with white knuckles, or the way her jaw had tightened. For someone on the verge of crying, her expression was cold and brooked no argument.

Galyon wanted to cry himself. _My best friend hates me now_ , he thought glumly. _She’s probably right. I went in over my head and now I’m acting like a fool._ He closed his books and bundled them into his arms, making his way to the relevant shelves to put them back. He was calmed by the simple orderliness, the way everything was neatly arranged in alphabetical order with the librarian’s own labels, and for a while he could pretend that nothing was wrong.

But when the last book was back in the right place, everything came crashing back down again. _I need to apologise to her_ , he reminded himself. _And I need to make sure I never see Love again._

How do you avoid seeing a spirit in the realm of spirits, especially when they were drawn to mages in the first place? He had no answer to that.

He felt as if the weight of the world had been thrust on his shoulders, and now he was sagging underneath it, struggling to rise and come up for breath. _I’m a fool_.

He knew he would disappoint her in the end, but he didn’t want to hurt her. She didn’t understand how important it was to find an untainted Spirit of Love wandering the Fade, or how rare they were in the first place. She didn’t understand the complex tangle of emotions surrounding it, either.

Galyon left the library as quickly as possible, but there was no Yveline to be found.

 

* * *

 

 

For the rest of the day, he couldn’t stop himself thinking of the spirit. It was like trying to ignore a particularly persuasive itch; the thought would disappear if he tried to ignore it for long enough, only to reappear later and stronger again. He struggled to focus on his duties and became irritable, glaring at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

It was only when he’d snapped at his apprentice that Galyon realised how he was acting. The boy looked near to tears, offering apology after apology and almost begging for forgiveness, but Galyon couldn’t remember why he’d yelled at him in the first place.

_Maker take me, she’s right. Of course she is. I’m unfit for my job._ With a sigh, Galyon looked the boy square in the eye and gave him a long, deep bow.

“I must apologise,” he said as gently as possible, regretting every word he’d said. “I am not myself currently. I… did not sleep well, I’m afraid.”

The boy relaxed a little, his body growing less tense, and the ghost of a smile formed at his mouth. Still, he wouldn’t look Galyon in the eye. “It’s my fault.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I wasn’t doing the spells properly. I’m an idiot, just like Mari says. I’ll never pass my Harrowing and all I’ll be good for is – ”

Galyon put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Listen to me,” he told the boy, waiting for eye contact before he continued. “You are young, and mistakes are a necessary stage in learning. Even the mightiest mage did not develop their talents overnight, and we are not measured by the span of time it takes, but how we commit ourselves.” He smiled down, hoping his words could take root. “I am proud of you, and I know someday you will take your Harrowing. But you have a few years until that day, and that’s normal too. You are only fourteen, may I remind you. For one to be ready at your age is… nearly unthinkable.”

The boy shuffled his feet, dragging them against the ground. For a moment he said nothing, and Galyon began to despair. “What if I’m never ready?” he asked. “What if they say I’ll end up _Tranquil_?” He spat out the word as if it was a deadly curse.

Galyon sighed. This was the question most mages feared, and with good reason; Tranquility was often used as a punishment tactic just as much as it was a refuge for those who feared their gifts and responsibilities. The sight of former comrades turned into silent, frightening figures who spoke in a monotonous drone was chilling for those who had grown up alongside them, and the thought that he might become one of them had terrified Galyon as a young boy. He had been aggressive to them in the past, saying they were barely more sentient than a cabbage, saying horrible things and calling them vile names.

_I was young then_ , he thought solemnly. _I must teach him a better way._

“The Tranquil are just as deserving of our respect as your fellow mages,” he said slowly. “They offer a great service to the Circle, and without them we would be unable to enchant things or deal with lyrium safely.”

“But they’re _dead!_ They walk around like a corpse and they’re so cold. _They’re not normal. What they do to them isn’t normal_. _They have no right to tear us from the powers we were born with._ ” He had never seen the boy this agitated before, but Galyon needed to calm him down. The templars were beginning to look over at them, and that was never a good sign. _There weren’t so many when I shouted earlier_ , he noticed. _Now they’re swarming._

“I think you need to calm down a little.” His eyes darted back and forth between the boy and his new audience, and he felt very uneasy. “They’re watching us now.”

The boy gave him a derisive snort. “ _Me_? Calm down? _You_ were the one yelling at me earlier. _You_ were the one acting all weird. I thought you were possessed for a second. That’s rich, you know.”

“The lesson is postponed until we can both focus on the task at hand,” Galyon said evenly, trying to convey authority with his voice. “We will discuss this matter latter at another point.” He began to walk away, but the boy clutched at his sleeve.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispered. It all came out rapidly, words tumbling clumsily from between his lips. “You have to help me. I’m scared. I don’t want them to do it. I don’t want that. I’d rather die. I want to be a mage, but I’m scared.” Galyon noticed his fingertips were sparking.

“Is everything alright?” One of the templars sauntered over, and neither of the two mages failed to notice the way he was looking at them.

Galyon cleared his throat, trying to hide his nerves. “Perfectly,” he said as evenly as possible. “I was just talking to my apprentice about a more theoretical aspect of magic. He was a little… confused by it, so that made him a little agitated. I was saying that was perfectly normal, so I went over it again.” The boy shot him a glance but didn’t challenge him; he knew Galyon was saving their skins just as much as the Enchanter did. 

“How odd,” the templar replied, a smirk forming. “I thought I heard the word ‘Tranquil’ being carried about quite a lot. I wonder why a little apprentice would be so _worried_ about some of our most productive members of the Circle?”

Galyon flinched. _Maker help me, Maker help me, Maker –_

“I was just asking Enchanter Galyon why the Tranquil have to be separated from the Fade,” the boy said quickly. “Because that’s what helps power us, doesn’t it? Magic relies on a connection to the Fade, and the Tranquil obviously can’t do it anymore, so I wanted to know why that was.” Warming to his theme, he continued more confidently. “So the Enchanter explained to me that stripping the Tranquil of that connection means they are no longer in danger of being possessed, but it also allows them to deal with raw lyrium in a safe manner. Because they aren’t distracted by emotions anymore, they can work and focus on tasks much better than we can, so they can do a lot of administrative things or stuff like that, and the things they create give us most of our funding to allow us to keep future generations of mages safe and educated.”

Galyon felt his heart swell with pride. The boy had repeated one of his lessons back to the templar almost verbatim, even under pressure.

The templar seemed almost disappointed but simply clicked his tongue. “I see,” he said. “All is in order, then.” He slunk away like a kicked dog, and when he was out of earshot Galyon turned back to his young apprentice.

“Well done,” he smiled.

He wasn’t prepared for the boy’s reaction. His apprentice simply glared at him. “You know it’s wrong, just like I do,” he hissed, keeping his voice much quieter this time. “And I don’t want to risk becoming one of them. I just wanted you to help me.”

“I can. I promise. You just need – ”

“Time?” His laughter came out in a bark, a sound devoid of any joy. “They’ll be watching me like a hawk now. Maybe they’ll even make me Tranquil overnight as a punishment for acting out. They won’t stop until they’ve choked off every one of us.” He turned and walked away, and Galyon was powerless to stop him.

_I seem to be letting everyone down lately_ , he thought to himself as he walked back to his quarters. Sitting on his bed, he placed his head in his hands and sighed heavily.

Galyon tried his hardest not to cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you’ll notice neither of them are fully answering the other here. There’s a reason for that, and the sharp-eyed among you may have already picked it up…

He found himself in the Fade moments later, although Galyon did not remember falling asleep. _Perhaps I was dragged in here somehow_ , he wondered. It was only later that he realised the thought bothered him less than it should have; in fact, he just shrugged it off at the time and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

Of course, _where_ is subjective in the Fade, and this was no exception. For a moment, everything was distorted, a confusing and disorienting blur of colours, shapes, sounds and scent. He felt as if he was being spun around, whirling and turning like some child’s toy. _Is this what I am to them?_ He might have been sick if he hadn’t reminded himself that none of this was real.

“I’ve been watching you.”

It was _her_. She had a voice as clear as a ringing bell, yet her tone was warm and gentle. Her eyes sparkled as she walked over to him, and they were the same vibrant green he’d remembered. She moved softly, her robe fluttering about her ankles as she strode towards him with purpose.

His throat caught. “ _You_.” He had no other words to say; they wouldn’t form, and his tongue felt heavier than lead. It was all he could do to stand and gape at her.

“Is that any way to address me?” she laughed. “And after you were thinking about me so much as well.”

“How do you know that? Who _are_ you? You’re not… you’re…” Galyon paused. Belatedly, his senses were returning, and with them came growing panic. “I want to know what you want from me, spirit,” he said, trying to sound calmer and firmer than he felt. “Why did you bring me here? And _what_ are you exactly?”

“These are very good questions. All ones that I can answer in due time.” With the full weight of her gaze on him, it was more than a little hard to think. He felt as if she was plumbing the depths of his soul and shivered slightly.

“We should sit,” he said lamely, aware of how feeble and awkward he sounded and desperate to redress the balance. _I am an Enchanter, not a flustered child_ , he reminded himself. _I am the one in control_. He felt anything but.

“Of course.” She smiled at him as he conjured a bench into being. He sat down first, and she followed after a brief pause, putting a slight distance between them.

He looked at her for a long time. His hands felt clammy and they trembled slightly, but he had to ask. He had to know.

“Are you a demon?”

Her smile disappeared. “Of course not,” she said briskly, frowning. “Those you mortals seek to label ‘demons’ are those who had been cut from their original purpose. Divorced from themselves. They are not whole, or happy, and they wreak havoc on all they find.” She sighed. “I am just a Spirit of Love. I do not have the power to cause the kind of damage my stronger kin might, and yet… you _fear_ me.”

She was so sad. Galyon felt absurdly guilty. _I have asked nothing wrong_ , he thought. _I had to know_. And yet he felt so sad, so desperately sad.

“I don’t fear you,” he admitted. “I am… uncertain as to what you are. Or _who_ you are, for that matter.” The words tumbled out of him faster than he had intended, but he couldn’t stop. It was as though a great weight was being lifted from his chest, and now he had tasted release he poured out more and more.

“I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about you. I was worried you had possessed me, because if you had I would be unable to tell. I thought perhaps I was slowly going mad, or…” He shook his head. “But I do not think so. From my research – as much as I could find, that is – you are… rare. You are gentle, kind, and…”

“Easily corrupted?” she finished for him. “I am fully aware of that, Galyon. I know more than you could ever guess.”

_None can own or chain a spirit, and none can tame them; they are more like wild beasts than we know, and more intelligent than we care to admit. We can only bind them and hope for the best._

“I see.” For a moment, they both sat still, trying to understand the weight of the situation.

Galyon broke the silence. “Why me?”

“You are kind, are you not? You care deeply, more than you know or care to admit. You are a soul so full of love, yet so blind to it.” She smiled at him. “You are the perfect mirror of myself; the very person who can align with my goals. You are _pure_ , and that is a rare thing on your side of the Veil.”

He gulped. “Your… goals?”

The spirit blinked at him. “To be a Spirit of Love is a lonely thing, much like Compassion, or… or Hope. Those of my ilk. We are often forgotten or misunderstood, too often compared with the rash and aggressive beings you label ‘demons,’ and so we are easily twisted. Just as the Fade is shaped by those who dream in it, we are shaped by their dreams and desires. And when they wake, sometimes they… _change_. They want more than we can give. And so _we_ change, too.”

Her eyes were so sad again, so serious and melancholy. “But you are _different_.” Her face lit up. “You can show me how to love the way mortals do. You can show me devotion, trust, adoration, simple pleasures… _love_. I want to love you the way you love, and I hope that you will still love me too, even when she – ”

“Why do you want me to love you? Or you to love me?” Perhaps his tone was steelier than he desired, because her smile faltered a little.

She recovered quickly. “Because you have already fallen in love with me,” she answered. “As a Spirit of Love, I could not let you suffer. I am the best equipped to return those feelings, am I not?” Her laughter was a thing of beauty, he thought. It was full of all the joy of the universe, the same way her sadness showed all its misery. She felt things wholly and purely… _the way a spirit does_ , he reminded himself.

But he was struggling to keep that thought in mind. It was so tempting, and she was so close… He wanted nothing more than to hold her, but he had no idea whose thought that was. _Mine… or hers? Is she possessing me?_

“Certainly not.” She frowned at him again. “I would _never_ do such a thing. I want to encourage one of the purest feelings you mortals can express; what good would it do me to force it from you?” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps you are… overwhelmed. I had not thought that. To be surrounded by a Spirit of Love, and that you might feel confused about your feelings…”

She turned away, shame painted across her face. “I should not have brought you here. It was wrong of me to… to think this way. You would not like it either. You would say I am…. not as I should be.”

“I think you _are_ the way you should be,” he told her firmly. “To want to feel love so strongly that you would want to fall in love with someone who did the same to you… or whatever this is, at any rate.” He smiled. “I think it’s admirable.”

“Not dangerous? Or risky, or – ”

“I am a mage. My life is full of risks.” He moved slightly closer to her. “I am an elf, and that fact alone gives me risks too.” Galyon moved even closer. He could see the light reflecting off her eyes, and he could practically count the freckles above her cheekbones. “And I trust you. I love you. I think that’s the riskiest thing I’ve ever done.”

She laughed. “You don’t think I’m possessing you, then? Or that you think this way towards me because you – ”

“I think this way towards you because you made me feel better. Because I have eyes to see how beautiful you are. Because I feel calm and happy around you. Because I think about you constantly, and it makes me desperate to see you again. And no, I don’t think you’re possessing me.” This time it was his turn to laugh. “Although if I had to hedge my bets, I’d say maybe I was possessed by a Spirit of Eloquence right now. I’ve never been much for… well…”

“Such a sweet talker,” she teased. “It was my good fortune that I found you in your nightmare, then. If another had come across you, then – ”

“Then I would have been lost to a vision of something I never wanted to remember again,” he said solemnly. “You helped me. Don’t forget that.”

Galyon felt himself slipping back into Enchanter mode. “I think if I’m going to be spending a lot of my time in the Fade with you, then I want to be able to study you.”

She looked at him askance.

“Perhaps that sounded better in my head,” he admitted. “But you are so _rare_. I’ve never even _heard_ of a Spirit of Love before. Maybe I’ll be able to… to understand you better, and then I can write down my notes.” Thoughts of breakthroughs and success flashed through his mind. It was exactly the kind of opportunity he’d been dying to get.

But it felt wrong. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I… I would prefer to keep this private. To think of you as some kind of specimen would just feel… odd.” He sighed.

“There will be other breakthroughs,” she smiled at him. “Other discoveries. Other spirits.”

“You’re right. I’ll just have to try not to fall in love with them all, then.”

Her head fell back as she laughed, and it made him smile to watch her. _She acts more like a human than a spirit does_ , he thought to himself. _Perhaps this will all be okay_.

“The Fade is shaped by your desires,” she reminded him. “It will all be okay if you want it to be. If you won’t, then it won’t.”

“But I do.”

Her eyes lit up. “Then I seem to have found a lover,” she teased, giving him a coy grin.

He wanted to kiss her so badly, but there was still something holding him back. _I will corrupt her. I will destroy her. I will ruin her._ The thoughts made him begin to panic.

There was a cool hand on top of his. He looked up into her eyes and saw pure adoration reflected there. “I will survive,” she promised him. “After all, am I not a Spirit of Love? What better thing is there for me than to love a mortal?”

“When you put it like that, it feels a bit less… wrong, actually,” he admitted.

“Your feelings are never wrong,” she assured him. “They shape you as a human being. Or an elven being, in this case,” she added, winking.

“You’re an elf yourself. You should remember that.”

“I am in a form you are most comfortable with,” she laughed. “If I was to change, it might startle you. What if I was Yveline, for example?”

He recoiled, face reddening. “ _Yveline_? She’s… she’s like a sister to me!”

The spirit smiled. “Well, there you have it. I suppose we are both elves, then.”

“Can I kiss you?” Galyon blurted out. It felt like such a stupid thing to say, and he immediately regretted it.

The woman only smiled and nodded. “You may,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

Her lips felt warm and soft, gentler than silk. He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her towards him until their chests touched. He could almost imagine her heart racing; his certainly was.

He pulled away, not wanting to try his luck. His face was burning up, hotter than a forge, but he felt like his heart was singing.

“Why did you stop?” Her voice was teasing yet concerned as she cupped his cheek. “Did you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Also no. It felt really, really nice,” he added quickly. “I just… I don’t want to corrupt you. Even now, my actions are… _tainting_ you.”

“You fell in love with me for a reason.” Her hand moved from his cheek to his shoulder. “Am I not allowed to love you back?”

“ _Is_ this love?” Galyon wondered, feeling slightly nervous. “It feels more like obsession to me.”

“It is what you make of it,” she told him. “However you choose to define it. However you choose to act.”

“My mother always told me I should be honourable when pursuing a woman,” he said, looking away. “That I shouldn’t be too aggressive. That I should listen to what she says.”

“Well, _this_ woman says she thinks you’re perfectly fine.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, chuckling as he blushed. “Oh, you are just _perfect_!”

“Wait,” he stammered out, hands fidgeting in his lap. “If this is real – and I feel absolutely mad thinking this – but if it is… I need to give you a name.” _Maker, I sound like such a fool._

“Of course. I would be happy to hear it.”

He thought long and hard about it, mulling over all the names he’d heard from the alienage, though he could barely remember them now. From the Circle, perhaps? No, no, she deserved something better than that.

After a moment, it just popped into his head. “ _Althea_ ,” he breathed. It felt right, somehow.

“Althea,” she answered, her grin growing wider. “I like it. It sounds beautiful.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Althea, my Queen of Beauty.”

“Oh, stop it!” She giggled, hiding her face, and Galyon joined in laughing.

“It’s true, though.”

“Flatterer.”

“And you’re _not_?”

“I am as sweet and innocent as a Chantry sister,” she protested.

“Not for long.” He gave her a wolfish grin before diving in for a deep and passionate kiss. She moaned against his mouth as his hand tangled in her hair, the other one clinging to her as if his life depended on it. Her breath tasted like mint, he noticed with amusement as their tongues met.

They stayed locked together for a long time before Galyon had to come up for air. He gasped, wide-eyed and much redder than before. This time, Althea was blushing too.

“I’ve never felt _anything_ like that before,” she admitted shyly.

“It’s a good place to start,” he teased. “There are many more things I could introduce you to, you know.”

“Such as?”

He whispered in her ear until she swatted him away, arching her brow in a show of mock outrage while he laughed.

This was a good feeling. It felt _right_. She made him feel better than he had done in a long time, and he admitted as much to her. “I was so lonely, you know.”

“Not anymore,” Althea smiled. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Not anymore,” Galyon agreed. He felt lighter than air, almost a spirit himself. “Now I have you.” She rested her head against his shoulder and his heart swelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's definitely a little something _off_ about her, isn't there?


	6. Chapter 6

“I had an amazing dream last night,” Yveline grinned. “I was charging into battle, sword held high, and then I cut down fifty men. You could feel the blood rush – what do they call it, battle fever or something? It was amazing.” She paused. “Then I found you and we went and had some ales in a tavern and talked about drunk people things. It was pretty fun. According to my dream you’re a fun drunk, so don’t let me down on that one, okay?”

“Depending on how much, I can be a _very_ fun drunk, or a falling-asleep-in-the-corner drunk. Also, I thought templars were meant to protect the weak and innocent, not turn into bloodthirsty killers.”

“Depends on the templar, doesn’t it? Also, they were pretty annoying men anyway.” She shrugged. “Besides, do you _really_ think I could fight in a battle? Half of the guys in drills end up crushing me like an insect.”

“A formidable insect who can hold her own… mostly.”

“Charmer.”

“I’m know for it.”

“ _Ass_.”

Yveline had been on edge around him for the best part of a day after the whole revelation that her best friend was, in fact, in love with a spirit and _not_ possessed (although she’d considered his judgement to be grossly lacking), but the day after that she’d approached him and agreed to not mention the issue to anybody unless she had sufficient proof that he was either a danger to himself or anyone else.

They’d managed to return to their former camaraderie fairly successfully, although mostly because they refused to discuss the obvious topic. It hung over them constantly, but so long as they never acknowledged it directly, it didn’t bother either of them too much. Much like a gnat, it was slightly awkward and uncomfortable, but simple enough to brush aside and ignore until you forgot it was there in the first place.

At least, that was what Galyon hoped. As much as his dreams with Althea brought him great pleasure and contentment, he had no desire to lose his only real companion in the waking world. Yveline was better than he deserved, he thought to himself guiltily, and he would not hurt her. _Could_ not. 

“You know, Morris said my form has vastly improved since I came to the tower,” she told him cheerfully. “He said I’ve become much better while drilling, really athletic and all of that kind of stuff. Sometimes I wonder if he’s not just ogling me half the time, but he _is_ a good instructor. Besides, he makes me laugh sometimes.” She blushed. “Not the same way you do, of course.” She wondered if he noticed.

“Well, so long as he doesn’t do anything untoward,” Galyon muttered. “If he so much as blinked at you the wrong way then I’d…” He paused, trying to think up a suitable punishment. “I’d hex him so his every waking moment was filled with ants crawling over him. Every inch of his skin. He’d get fired within a day or two, of course, and then I’d end the spell the second he passed through those doors and they shut behind him. That way he’d never bother you again.” He cracked his knuckles and gestured towards the staff he’d propped up by his side.

“Wow.” For a moment she was speechless. “That’s… that’s really something.” Yveline tilted her head to the side. “Don’t you think that’s a little much, though?”

“Maybe,” he admitted sheepishly. “I might have got a little carried away. I hope it didn’t sound too intense.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised, though. All you magic types _really_ want to do is turn people into frogs and stuff. Ants? That’s not so bad, I guess.”

“Frogs? For _him_? No, no, I’d make him a _wasp_. Everyone would swat at him and it would drive him absolutely mad.”

“Why are you getting so defensive over me, anyway? So protective, you are. I have this, remember?” She stuck her tongue out as she patted her sword, miming a vicious strike against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just… I wouldn’t want anybody to – ”

“I get it. It’s alright. Really, it is,” she added, seeing how unconvinced he looked. “Besides, it’s the thought that counts, right? Shows you have a heart still beating away underneath all that frippery.”

“Frippery?” He laughed. “Who taught you that one?”

“Looked it up in a dictionary. I got bored,” she said nonchalantly. “Besides, it’s true. Sometimes I wonder if they only made our templar uniforms look this fancy so that we wouldn’t feel naked compared to you lot.”

“Fighting a naked templar _would_ be quite distracting, though. Maybe you should consider it as a tactic.”

Yveline swatted his arm as he dissolved into laughter. After a moment she joined in, shaking her head. “Terrible. You have all the maturity of a _child_ , you know.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try just _one_ time, right?” Galyon teased.

“Maybe just for you,” she smiled, turning away to hide her blush. “It would have to be a worthwhile fight, though.”

“Oh, of course! I would tear the Veil in two just for your benefit. Turn the sky into a big, sparkly disaster. _Boom_.” He mimed an explosion.

“More like _your_ benefit. I thought _I_ was the one naked in this hypothetical situation?”

“Oh, if it makes you feel more comfortable then I co – ”

“You _ass!_ ” She swatted him again.

“Alright, alright.” He held his hands up in surrender, trying not to laugh. “You win. No naked fights, then.”

“I should certainly hope not. Some of us still need to _sleep_ , you know. You’d give me nightmares, anyway.”

“Perhaps.”

They sat there in not-quite-uncomfortable silence, but it edged close enough for them both to still feel awkward. There were a thousand questions burning on Yveline's mind, itching on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to ask them. She  _should_ have, she knew that, but she just...  _couldn't_. She had nearly lost her one and only true friend in the Circle to his own madness, and she would not lose him any further to his own stubborn reticence. They would have to talk about the topic further at another point, and some day she would have to seriously test whether he was a genuine risk. An abomination-in-waiting.

The whole situation rubbed her the wrong way, no matter how careful Galyon said he was being. You could never be careful enough with spirits and demons, she reckoned, and now her best friend was practically on the verge of bedding one? It was the stupidest thing she had ever seen him do, or any Enchanter for that matter, and didn't he pride himself on his knowledge of the Fade? Of its intricacies, beauties, marvels... and  _dangers_? If he did not corrupt her first, destroying the very purity he had fallen in love with to begin with, then _she_ would destroy _him._ When that day came, Yveline promised she would slay him herself.  _He deserves that much. I'm his best friend. He's a good man_.  _Maker take him, he's even given her a name, but he's a good man._

When Galyon brought up Althea again with the biggest smile on his face, Yveline bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood. _He will not see me cry for him. He's a good man._

 _He's a good_ _man_.

So why did she struggle to believe it anymore?

 _He's a good man_ , she thought as she turned away from him.

 


End file.
